I saw my new therapist for the second time yesterday. This is good, as the past weekend was a bit difficult. She wasn’t particularly helpful, but I was at least able to hint at what happened, and she was able to figure it out. She stared at me for a bit, silently, and then told me the psychiatrist mentioned dissociation or depersonalisation.
We talked for a bit about ‘zoning out’ and feeling like your life is going on without you. I told her that, to me, the spacey feeling was like being in the audience watching yourself as an actor in a play. You’re not sure where you stop and the world begins. She worked for quite some deciphering the difference between dissociation and depersonalisation, stopping every now and again to ask me questions.
She said aloud that she does not diagnose dissociative disorders, as the literature tends toward multiple personalities, and she does not believe in that. Surprising. The final diagnosis is Depersonalisation Disorder, which joins Bipolar I Disorder and PTSD. Before long, I’ll just be diagnosed as DSM Disorder. They’ll all fit. Growl.
It is good, though, to know how the shrink and therapist are going to classify my spacing out. At least they have a name for it now.